


Life Day

by EffieAgo



Series: Clan Djarin [4]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26240329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffieAgo/pseuds/EffieAgo
Summary: Din has a gift planned for Grix.
Series: Clan Djarin [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602976
Comments: 23
Kudos: 132





	Life Day

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally finished editing this. I promise the next installment is longer and more plotty, but I guess I just wanted Grix to be vulnerable.
> 
> ALSO: quintessence_of_dust wrote [Uncovered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993756), an absolutely lovely piece set in this AU about Din taking his helmet off in front of Grix for the first time. It is SO good and just beautifully written and sweet. If you haven't read it yet, you definitely should.
> 
> (And while I have a note in my AO3 profile, I'll just add here that if anyone wants to play around with this AU idea or use Grix as a character or whatever, feel free. No need to ask permission or anything, just please link back to me so I can enjoy whatever you create :D )

Din Djarin glanced down at his beeping comm. He knew he couldn’t keep on ignoring it, so he inhaled and answered it as he stepped out of the noisy workshop into the slightly quieter street. It was definitely not as busy as normal, but there were people around putting up decorations and selling festive goods. “Buir?”

_“You all right, son? You weren’t answering?”_

“Everything’s fine.”

There was a pause and a bit of interference before Grix’s voice came through again. _“You sure about that? You said it would be a short meeting. I can leave the kid with someone and come meet you if—”_

“No. No, stay there. I’ll be back soon.”

 _“Din, are you sure you’re okay?”_ The now familiar hint of concern in the older man’s voice was still enough to send a shock through Din’s body.

“Yes. Got to go.” He ended the call before his _buir_ could reply and then silenced the comm for good measure.

When he walked back through the door, he found himself face to face to the elderly Togruta craftsman. “Ah, there you are. I thought you might’ve run off. Though I can’t imagine you’d want to leave your _beskar_.”

“I had to take that comm, but I can pay you now.” Then he frowned. “After I inspect the work.”

“Of course, right this way. You came just in time, you know. We close early today for the holiday.” The craftsman led him through the main room where his apprentices and assistants were busy at various forges and worktables through to a small office. “Here, there was even enough let to make this.” The item the man handed him was a narrow _beskar_ box featuring a striking design of twisting vines that had been overlaid on the gleaming metal. He opened it carefully and inside, resting on the soft fabric lining, was exactly what Din had ordered.

“I didn’t ask for a box.”

The craftsman shrugged. “It just seems like you were going for an heirloom type of thing, so I thought you might want it. I can melt it back down if you’d prefer.”

“No… it’s okay. How much more do you want?”

“What we already agreed on is fine.”

Din sighed and pulled out several tall stacks of New Republic credits. “Here, I don’t need change.”

 _“Ret'urcye mhi,”_ the man said once Din was halfway through the doorway.

The Mandalorian stopped for a moment and then nodded. _“Ret'urcye mhi.”_

When Din opened the hatch of the Razor Crest and stepped inside, he didn’t immediately see his family, but he could hear them. Grix was speaking slowly and deliberately in Mando’a while the baby cooed. As he climbed the ladder up to the cockpit, Din realised with no small amount of amusement just what Grix reciting. “I’m, uh, back.” The old Mandalorian was in his full set of armor and wore his helmet, which was somewhat unusual for him inside the ship. The child was in his grandfather’s lap and looked half-asleep.

“Just in time too. I was just giving the little one a cultural lesson.”

“I heard. _Vode An_ , really?”

Grix’s laugh was warm as he stood and gently sat the baby in his pram. “I didn’t think you’d disapprove.”

“I don’t. I’m just a bit surprised.”

“Well, I figured we needed to counteract all that _aruetyc_ Life Day nonsense.”

Din froze and Grix who had sat back down, stared at his son in confusion. “I’m just joking.”

“I… I know.” Din sat in the free seat and kept a tight grip on the leather bag he held. Life Day was not a Mandalorian holiday, it was true, but it originated on Kashyyyk not in the Core. Besides, plenty of Mando’ade celebrated it, or at least they had before they were reduced to fractured and scattered communities just barely scraping by on the fringes of the galaxy. Mandalorian holidays, though each one was dear to him, tended to focus on atonement and making things right or marked some instance of righteous retribution. None of them would’ve have fit what he was going for, especially not when he was doing this for Grix, whose relationship to their culture would never not be troubled. Din didn’t ever want his _buir_ to think that bothered him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You sounded off when I commed.”

“It’s just that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Grix swivelled the pilot’s seat so they were facing each other. “You wanted to talk to me about Life Day?” He sounded understandably taken aback.

Behind his helmet, Din bit his lip. It had turned out to be harder than he’d imagined, but he couldn’t just put it off. “I got you something.”

“Oh, Din.”

“Just, uh. Here.” Din leaned forward and shoved the pouch into his _buir’s_ hands.

Grix just looked down at it for a few seconds and then slowly removed the box. Its intricate design was even more noticeable in the natural light that shined through the ship’s transparisteel viewscreens. Din thought he heard a faint gasp. “Son.”

“Just open it.”

The silence that followed Grix opening the lid and seeing the dagger inside was all encompassing. The weapon stood out beautifully against the pale fabric. Din watched with satisfaction as Grix gazed at the excruciatingly detailed mudhorn signet under the hilt.

“Flip it over.”

“What?” His buir sounded half in a daze.

“Turn the _kal_ over.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure Grix heard him, but then he did as Din said. The other side of the blade was identical except that it bore an entirely different sigil. Grix ran his thumb over the symbol of Clan Ordo and then looked up. Din found himself wishing he could see his face. “This is… why?”

“I just, it’s _beskar_. I have all this,” he indicated his armor. “It seemed right. I’m sorry it’s not more.”

“More? Din, I know this cost a fortune. I wouldn’t even want to guess.” The return of some of Grix’s usual spirit was a relief, though there was an undeniable edge to the man’s voice. “Where did you get the money?”

Din had been prepared to answer that question, but he felt his cheeks burn all the same. “I had some _beskar_ put away. And, uh, that solo job I took a while back? On Naator? They paid more than I said.”

“Ah.” Grix leaned back in his seat. “I knew that. When I went to pick you up, the boss mentioned something.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It made sense to me. It’s your money, and it’s a good idea to put aside some money for you and the kid. Even with the jobs we do together, we both know you’re the one earning the credits. Besides, you’re clan leader. It’s your right to allocate funds as you see fit.” Grix put the dagger back in its box and set it on the control console. “Din, it’s beautiful. I don’t even have the words for it. But you shouldn’t have.” He didn’t say what Din knew he was thinking. That it was a piece for a leader of a Clan, and probably one whose holdings consisted of more than a 30-year-old gunship.

Din felt a wave of emotion wash over him. “I wanted to. You’re the one always reminding me we’re _aliit_. That it doesn’t matter that we met when we did. Same with the baby,” he said as he glanced over at his sleeping son. “We’re family.” 

“Of course we are.” The forcefulness behind those words went a long way to reassuring Din. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“It’s too late. I’ve already failed. The Resol’nare in general, of course.” Grix’s voice didn’t sound right and Din knew it wasn’t the vocoder. He found himself wanting to ask his _buir_ to take his helmet off, but it didn’t seem fair. Not when Din still hadn’t shown him his face, though it was something he’d been thinking about more and more often. Grix, however, had continued speaking. “And as a parent… I’m trying now, but it doesn’t erase anything.”

Din knew he wasn’t good with words and he certainly didn’t know what to say in that moment, so he did the only thing that came to mind. He leaned forward and tugged on Grix’s arm until he complied, leaning in until their helmets knocked together gently. “It’s not over and you’re not failing.” It was all Din could manage to say and he hoped it would be enough.

When he finally pulled away, he kept his grip on his _buir’s_ arm. “Please, can I see you?”

Grix didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he said as he pulled off his helmet. Din pretended not to notice him blinking his eyes several times in quick succession.

“There’s another thing.”

His _buir_ gave him a crooked half smile. “Oh?”

“What you said earlier about me being the one handling finances. You’re better at that and more experienced.”

“If you ever need help with anything, you only have to ask.”

“I’m asking. Be _aliit’alor_.”

Grix pulled away. “Din…”

“It’s a serious request. It doesn’t make sense what we’ve been doing. I could focus more on jobs and you know what you’re doing with all this.”

The old man didn’t speak for a long moment and then nodded. He glanced back at the dagger’s box. “Is that why…?”

“Like I said, I wanted to.”

Slowly, Grix nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” Din said as he started to stand up.

“Wait.” When Din turned back, he was shocked to see that Grix had removed his left vambrace. It was the only piece of _beskar’gam_ the man had left. The paint was chipped, and it had clearly been knocked around a fair amount, but it was a piece of Mandalorian history. As was tradition, it had it been formed and reformed through the generations by one Ordo after another. “Here, take it.”

“Buir, I can’t.”

“You can. I wanted to give it to you as soon as you became my son,” Grix said, as he looked up at him. “But what you have is so much better. The _beskar_ is purer, less damaged and—” His buir didn’t manage to finish his sentence before Din snatched the piece out of his hand.

Grix smiled and then looked over at the sleeping child. “One day it’ll be his, anyway. All of it.”

“Yes.” _This is the way,_ Din thought but didn’t say out loud. What they had wasn’t perfect or ideal, but it suddenly it felt like enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> ret'urcye mhi - goodbye (lit. "maybe we'll meet again")  
> aruetyc - foreign, traitorous  
> kal- Mandalorian dagger  
> aliit- clan, family  
> Mando'ade- Mandalorians  
> buir- parent  
> kal- blade, dagger  
> aliit'alor- clan leader  
> beskar'gam- Mandalorian beskar armor


End file.
